


No Promises

by Blue_Night



Category: Men's Football RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Anger, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotions, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt, Love and Passion, M/M, Moving On, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Relationship(s), Tears, good memories, home/homesickness, painful memories, regret and longing, shadows of the past, still not over yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-06 13:38:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16388729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Night/pseuds/Blue_Night
Summary: Erik plays for Huddersfield now, but he decides to spend the international break in his old flat in Dortmund - which still feels far too much like home. He didn't tell anybody that he would visit his former home, but Marco still has the key to his flat to water Erik's plants, and they run in on each other unexpectedly, realizing that there is still unfinished business between them...





	1. Endless Summer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GoForGoals](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoForGoals/gifts).



> My dearest GoForGoals,
> 
> I should actually write a lot of other stuff in my very limited free time, but it has been so incredibly long since I've last written Durmeus, my one and only first love ship next to John and Todd, so I gave in to the temptation. I will write the things we talked about as soon as possible - that I promise (;-D) - but I think that you won't mind some Durmeus in between - even though this here will probably be far from fluffy. I'm really not in the mood for fluff, and this popped up in my mind today when I had some time to write. It will have 3 chapters or so, I'm not good at making any promises about the length of fics...  
> I hope you will enjoy this, my dear, it comes from my heart for you. <33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco goes to Erik's flat to water his plants, not knowing that Erik is there because he wants to spend the international break in the city that still feels so much like home to him...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Endless Summer_ from the singer _Oceana_ was the official song of the European Championship 2012, and it fits perfectly for this first chapter after the long and hot summer we had this year.

_'Summer doesn't want to come to an end,'_ Erik thinks when he turns the key in the lock to his flat in Dortmund, and a song comes into his mind, the song of another summer long gone, a summer when he was so very young - just twenty - and full of wistful dreams and hopes. _Endless Summer_ from the singer _Oceana_ was the official song of the European Championship, and it was the song Erik listened to all of the time when he moved from Mainz to Dortmund in that fateful summer 2012, so far away from his home for the first time in his life. The song he hummed when he packed his few belongings to start the biggest adventure of his whole life in an entire new and unknown city.

Dortmund's call had been too tempting to resist it, to play for such a great club had always been his dream. It didn't matter that it was the third league where he played, being a part of this club was already enough for a young player like him.

 _Endless Summer_ was the song he listened to when he lay alone in his bed, fighting against homesickness and doubts, dreaming of listening to the official song of an international championship one day together with German's most important team one day – the National Team.

His secret wish and dream came true only two years later, and Erik sometimes still thinks that the seemingly endless hot summer in Brazil was really just a dream, born out of the heat and the sun melting everything, and that it wasn't real at all. He was still so young back then, one of the youngest of the first team of the BVB, so eager to prove himself and win all the titles that seemed to be within reach while being a world champion.

Six years after that fateful hot summer when he moved to Dortmund and listened to _Oceana's_ song, an eternity has passed, and Erik lives even further away now, an ocean separating him from his beautiful childhood home that lies within soft green meadows and hills - and from the city that still feels like home to him so very, very much.

Dortmund is not as peaceful, idyllic and beautiful as the small village is where he played football as a small boy with his friends in the street before their house, but it is the place where he grew up and where he experienced his biggest successes and his worst and most hurtful failures, and the city is still so familiar to him that he wants to cry.

Erik simply couldn't give up his flat when he moved to England, even though the chances that he will ever come back here to play for the BVB again go to zero. It would have been the right thing to do to make a real cut and not look back, but Erik still has friends here, and he doesn't want to be a burden for them and ask them if he can sleep in their guest room when he's visiting them. Having his own space where he can withdraw to when everything becomes too much is what he wants and needs, and Erik didn't need to think twice where he wanted to spend his few days off during the international break and booked a flight to Dortmund before he even knew what he was doing.

His flat still looks like it did when he left – except for the things he took with him when he moved to Huddersfield of course – and it's quiet and calm, the tiny grains of dust that come with the time when an apartment is abandoned for so long dancing cheerfully in the sunlight falling through the windows.

Erik leans against the front door with closed eyes for a moment, breathing in the dearly missed smell of his home for a moment or two. The lump in his throat is big, too big to swallow it down, and _Oceana_ repeats her song _Endless Summer_ from another long gone hot summer in his mind in an endless loop until the first tear drops roll down on Erik's cheeks like rain in a desert. They feel like a long missed and needed thunderstorm on his face, cold and welcome against his hot and dry skin – because even summer will become unbearable one day if it only lasts long enough.

 

***

 

Marco knows that he shouldn't be grateful for not being with his friends from the National Team because of his health problems, but he actually is, grateful and glad that he doesn't need to see the doubts and shame on their faces – the same doubts and shame he's feeling every time he will be reminded of the last summer that simply refuses to go and let autumn take its rightful place.

Playing for his country with the National Team had once been his biggest dream - ever since he was a small boy and realized that all he ever wanted to do was playing football and win glory and fame with his teams and for his country.

But his dream was crashed into a million sharp pieces in another long and hot summer when his friends won the cup without him and he had to watch them lifting it up in the hot night air on the TV screen. Marco still doesn't really know how he survived that long and horrible summer back then without going insane with grief, fury and sorrow, but somehow he did, and he lived his life after that without allowing himself to ever dwell in such foolish dreams again, at least he did is best and really tried hard not to dream any longer, even more after another summer two years later when the next one of his hopes was trashed in the dirt so cruelly right on his birthday.

Being called for the German team has lost most of its appeal, even more after the last long and hot summer that is still not over, and Marco is grateful to have a few days off and for himself before the season will continue without giving him any other breather until winter comes.

If winter will come, that is. Marco sometimes thinks that it will stay summer forever, and he's not as happy about that as others would be, because summer always brings changes, and not all of them are good ones but painful and filled with sorrow and regret.

One change of the last summer that is still not over is that Marco has lost friends and teammates again, and one of those losses hurts badly like an open wound, still bleeding heavily although several months have passed.

Marco stares at the key in his hand, and he finds himself hesitant to use it.

Erik gave him the key when he asked him to water his plants once in a week, and Marco stared at the key in disbelief like he's looking at it now, his throat too tight to speak when realization what Erik's request actually meant literally crushed him.

Because there are other people Erik could have asked – should have asked – as they are much more reliable than he is when it comes to such things, and Erik's trust in him that he wouldn't forget about his beloved plants actually felt like an unexpected and undeserved precious gift.

Marco hasn't missed seeing to Erik's palm and flowers one single time so far, visiting Erik's place every week to water them, but it's getting harder instead of becoming easier with every week that passes, and Marco's always dreading the moment he has to enter the empty flat that always feels far too cold, even during the endless summer when the sun was burning down on the ground and every living being without any mercy.

The promise he has given Erik weighs heavily on his shoulders, and Marco truly wishes sometimes that he hadn't made it, wanting to ask the younger one to release him from his promise every time they talked on the phone or chatted via Social Media.

But he didn't, and Marco wonders why he keeps coming back to Erik's empty flat like a puppet pulled on a string, hoping that Erik will stand on the threshold and smile at him every time he does – just to find another foolish dream of him crashed again and again.

Marco always takes the staircase and not the elevator, counting the stairs out of habit like he did it when he climbed them for the first time, giddy with anticipation back then because he knew that Erik would be there and smile at him.

The key turns smoothly like always, and Marco steels himself for the emptiness and the cold he knows that they will await him behind the door today.

Marco has expected silence and the faint smell of dust to greet him when he finally enters the flat. What he has not expected is seeing Erik standing in his living room before the window like a marble statue, staring outside.

The man Marco's dreams by night are filled with - because unfortunately he can't control his dreams while he sleeps – is standing only a few meters away from him, and he looks so real and beautiful, but it can't be that he's actually here, can it?

The man Marco's each and every waking thought circles around in an endless loop like a broken disc is standing before the window of his living room, and Marco fears that it's just his imagination running wild, making him see things that aren't there because he wishes so damn much that Erik was actually there – here in Dortmund with him, and not so damn far away in another country.

The image before his blinking eyes now slowly turns his head when the sound of a closing door sinks into his consciousness, and all Marco can do is gape at him in shocked surprise.

If this is only a dream, then Marco never wants to wake up from it again.


	2. Don't Speak!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco has run in on Erik by accident when he came to his flat to water Erik's plants. What will happen now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear GoForGoals,  
> I hope that I haven't lost my feeling for Durmeus completely and that this is a story you will enjoy reading! 
> 
> _'Don't Speak'_ is an old song from the group 'No Doubt', maybe I will find a good song fitting for the third chapter as well. :-)

Erik doesn't know how long he has cried when he finally pushes himself away from the door to walk over to his living room and take a look outside over the familiar sight, losing himself in wistful memories about long gone happy moments quickly.

Time seems to stand still until the quiet sounds of a key turning in the lock and the door being opened wakes him from his haze, and Erik slowly turns his head to look at the newcomer. There are only few people having a key to his flat, his parents and his sister, one of his childhood friends from Pirmasens – and Marco.

Marco whom he asked to water his plants.

Erik actually hadn't expected Marco to keep his promise and see to his plants on a regular basis, but here he is, standing in his corridor and looking at him in stunned silence, and Erik feels a bad conscience rising in him that he didn't tell him about his intentions to come here beforehand to warn him.

They'd parted without any other promises except for the one about watering his plants Marco had given him, and Erik had thought it best to let the blond go on with his life without him, not wanting to hang over Marco's head like a dark shadow from his past.

Now he's chiding himself that he has been so careless and selfish to come here without any note and risk that they would run in on each other like it has just happened right now. Erik opens his mouth and closes it again, unable to speak, and Marco is the first one to recover from his surprise and cross the distance between them with a few cautious steps.

The blond comes to a halt before him with his fingers resting on his hips, a posture that is still so familiar to Erik that it makes him want to cry again, and he unconsciously holds his breath when Marco's eyes travel over his face. He wants to look away but he can't, and he swallows and bites down on his lip when Marco's glance comes to rest on the dried traces of tears that are still visible on his left cheek for a second before he locks gazes with him again, the amber-green color of his eyes sparkling golden in the sunlight of the early afternoon.

“Have you cried? Why didn't you tell me that you wanted to come here, Erik?” Marco breaks the silence between them at last, and Erik helplessly shrugs his shoulders to both of his questions and grimaces in the attempt to force his lips into a weak smile, the dried tears leaving a sticky and uncomfortable feeling on his face.

“I dunno, I just...” he starts in English, just to go silent again and blink in irritation. He clears his throat and makes another attempt to explain himself, in German this time. He has German teammates in Huddersfield, but he tries to speak English even when he's alone with them to get familiar with the new language, and his own mother tongue starts to feel and sound weird to him sometimes. Marco actually speaks and understands English almost fluently, but he frowns when Erik's mistake reminds both of them of the fact that Erik doesn't live in Dortmund any longer, but in another country now.

Erik draws in a deep breath and tries to focus. “It was a spontaneous decision, I actually didn't think about telling anybody about it beforehand, even not my family. I think that I simply didn't want to bother you. I just thought that you'd have better things to do than wait for my visit, I guess...”

The rest of what he wants to say – if he even wanted to say anything more, that is – is swallowed by Marco's far too hot lips burning on his mouth as the older one kisses him almost angrily, and Marco's fingers dig in his scalp when the older one holds his head in a tight grip to keep him in place while he attacks his mouth with something akin to grim passion.

Erik tries to draw back and protest, because this is really a bad idea, and they absolutely shouldn't do this. But Marco just shakes his head and pulls him closer again, gently putting his finger on his lips to silence him.

“Don't speak, Erik, just don't speak, not now. Don't say anything,” he whispers, his voice raw and choked, and Erik swallows and nods his head, closing his eyes as he lets the man who still means so much to him kiss him, Marco's hands still around his cheeks and silent tears still rolling over his face.

They kiss each other standing before the window for a while, and Marco's tongue is hot urgent and desperate in his mouth, trying to make up for the last months they were apart all at once. The blond's passion is overwhelming, and Erik doesn't even think of trying to object again when the older one starts to push him backwards, in the direction of his bedroom.

They shouldn't do this, they really shouldn't.

They shouldn't pick up where they left, sleeping with each other and being more than just friends and former teammates, but Erik feels like a man dying of thirst tasting the first gulp of muddy water in the desert after walking under the burning sun for days, and Marco's lips on his own feel too perfect and irresistible to pull away.

Erik hadn't realized how lonely and incomplete he'd felt without Marco until the older one had pressed his lips onto his mouth a couple of minutes ago, and he sobs with the relief of finally being whole again – even if it'll be for a few hours only.

Marco has been his everything for so long, his admired and adored teammate, his role model at first, and some long months later even also his friend. Marco was the one Erik wanted to impress and please even more than he wanted to impress and please Jürgen Klopp when he became a part of the first team, still so young and overwhelmed by everything – and especially by the charismatic and already so famous blond player who'd re-joined the BVB shortly ago.

Marco was the one making Erik push all of his limits for him during training and the games, and Marco's crooked smile and his approving glances were the reason why he never gave up during the two years of painful injuries and failures when there seemed to be no hope left that he would ever be able to play again.

Erik still remembers the night when they were suddenly not only teammates and friends any longer, but something else, something more. They actually didn't really know what they were for each other at first, and they needed a rather long time to figure out what this new thing between them was, fearing that it would slip through their fingers if they dared to call it desire or perhaps even love.

Erik remembers stolen kisses in the darkness of another anonymous hotel room, he remembers fumbling under the covers and how he told himself again and again that it was just tension release, owed to all the adrenaline coursing through them after a victory – or to the comfort they both needed after a lost game.

He remembers their first 'real' night together, when Marco asked him to leave the lights on because he wanted to see his face, the night when they finally shared more than just kisses and awkward hand jobs.

It happened in his own bed, and Erik was surprised to find Marco sleeping beside him the next morning.

They still didn't dare to call it love, but they started to spend the nights together on a regular basis after that, either at Erik's place, or at Marco's – after a couple of weeks even when they didn't have sex. It always felt as if they were a real couple when Erik fell asleep in Marco's strong arms, his back snuggled against the older one's chest, and he always slept much better in Marco's arms than he slept when he was alone.

Erik is so lost in his memories as he stumbles his way backwards to his bedroom that he doesn't even notice that Marco has started to undress them, and he's surprised to find himself naked when his knee pits finally hit the bed. Marco's face is flushed and his eyes are glowing in a dark golden color when he draws back from Erik's bruised lips to look at him, his pupils big black rounds in his red face. They stare at each other for a moment, their breathing raged and labored, and Erik opens his mouth, but Marco shakes his head.

“Please don't speak, Erik, just don't. Don't ruin it – please!”

Erik feels unsure, thinking that Marco must be angry with him because he came here without telling him beforehand, but Marco's gaze is tender and his touch is gentle when he presses Erik down onto the bed. The blanket is cold under Erik's back and he shivers, but Marco's body is hot upon his own when he covers him, and they don't bother to pull the blankets to the side, too impatient to feel each other to care about anything else.

Marco stares down at him with so much hunger that Erik's throat goes dry, and he pulls at his head to clash their mouths together again and pushes his tongue back into the soft cavern until Marco growls and kisses him back with the same urgency.

There are still lube and condoms in his drawer, and Erik actually felt foolish and stupid to leave them there when he closed the drawer one last time before his move to England, but now he's really glad that he didn't throw them into the trash bin.

Their fingers touch when they both try to open the drawer at the same time, and Marco chuckles breathlessly into his mouth. They are both hard, their straining cocks trapped between their sweaty bellies, and Erik's head is spinning with desire for the man pressing him down onto the mattress with his lithe and yet heavy body.

Erik chokes back a strangled cry when Marco pushes a cool and slick finger inside his hole because it has been months since their last encounter, but his body still remembers the last time they did this and quickly relaxes around the curious and cheeky intruder gradually, widening smoothly inch by inch. Marco's tongue in his mouth distracts him from the still familiar burn, and Erik sucks it deeper into his mouth and digs his fingertips into Marco's scalp to take control of their kiss.

Their bodies move against one another while Marco prepares him hastily and a little bit clumsily after the long time they haven't done this, and the way Marco's erection brushes against his own is almost too much to bear and sends shivers of raw need down on Erik's spine. He wants to touch the blond, to feel the heavy weight of his aroused cock in his palm, but all he can do is to claw at his shoulders and his back, scratching along the elegant curves of Marco's spine and his ass to urge him on.

His hole is pulsing and quivering with the need to be filled, and he wants to be the one rolling the condom over Marco's cock, but Marco turns away from him and doesn't let him do that, muttering under his breath as he struggles with putting on the thin rubber.

“Marco...” Erik croaks against Marco's soft lips.

“Erik.” Marco chokes out in return.

It burns, but it burns in a really good way, in a way Erik has missed feeling this kind of burning for such a long time.

Marco covers him with his body again, his hands in Erik's hair and his lips on his face. Erik sobs into his mouth when Marco is finally buried balls-deep inside him, not a single sheet of paper fitting between their bodies as close as they are now.

Finally again.

Marco is finally here with him again, filling him so perfectly and thoroughly, chasing the loneliness inside Erik's soul away with his warmth and his passion.

Erik can feel him throb and twitch against his hot walls, and it is enough to make him come right on the spot after the incredibly long time they have been apart. He arches his back and groans, his whole body shuddering with the ecstasy coursing through him as he makes a mess between their bodies. He can feel his orgasm not only in his shooting and pulsing dick and in his groin, but even in his toes, in his fingertips and under his hairline, and he bites down hard on his bottom lip while Marco is watching him come and spill his release between their connected bodies.

“Fuck, Marco, oooh...” he groans when he slumps back down onto the mattress again, squeezing his eyes shut in shame and embarrassment. “Fuck, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to ruin it...” he whispers, and Marco bends down to kiss him.

“It's okay, you didn't. Don't be sorry, please, it's fine. You'll be good to go again in no time...” Marco kisses him on the tip of his nose, and his snicker is breathless and a little bit shaky. “I think that I feel flattered that you missed me that badly, Erik.”

Erik opens one eye to peer up at him, relaxing gratefully. “I did,” he breathes, “I really did, Marco.”

“Me too. You'll never know how much I missed you, Erik,” Marco smiles his crooked smile, stretching his name as if he couldn't get enough of listening to himself finally saying it out loud again, and he shakes his head again when Erik makes another attempt to explain himself and apologize for his unexpected and impromptu visit in Dortmund.

“Don't speak, Erik, don't say anything. Just let us be together like that for a while,” he begs, dabbing tender kisses all over his face. He's so hard and big inside Erik, so hot and throbbing, and Erik's desire comes back with full forth, making him grow hard against Marco's sticky abs again.

“Told you that you'd be good again,” Marco murmurs against his swollen lips, and then he starts to move, pulling out and thrusting back into him until Erik can feel him everywhere inside his body. Marco's hands are in his hair, carding through it to tousle and dishevel it even more than it already is, and he's pushing deeper and deeper with every desperate thrust.

“Erik. Erik, Eeeerriiik,” he breathes against Erik's flushed face, his voice rough and hoarse and full of emotions, the rawness he repeats his name with sending waves of sheer need through Erik's lithe frame.

“Erik, Erik, Eeerrriikkk, Errriiikkk!”

Marco says his name all over again and again while he moves above him, and Erik is so hard, aching and throbbing and leaking, and he grasps Marco's ass to make him move faster and harder, the sounds of the creaking bed spurring him on.

“Erik, Erik, Erik!”

Marco's lips are everywhere on his face, kissing the hot and salty tears from his cheeks Erik has started to cry without even noticing it, his big hands cupping Erik's cheeks and ruffling his hair as if the blond wanted to burn this moment into his memory forever.

“Marco... Marco...oh, Marco...” Marco's lips silence him again, and Erik swallows his own name when the older one whispers it into his mouth again, telling Marco with his kiss what he's not allowed to say aloud.

 

***

 

Marco's world is finally whole again.

He is finally whole again.

Here in Erik's bed, feeling him so close and being allowed to kiss him and say his name, Marco finally feels whole and complete again, and he doesn't want this moment to ever end.

Erik feels so good around him and beneath him, he smells and tastes so good, and Marco buries his face in the warm crook between Erik's shoulder and neck for a moment to inhale his scent like an addicted craving the next shot, the mixture of warm skin and the aftershave Erik always uses filling Marco's senses and making him want to cry himself.

He never wants to wake up from this blissful dream, he never wants to miss Erik's warmth again. He wants to stay like this forever, sheathed deep inside Erik's body and listening to Erik's strong and steady heartbeat vibrating against his sweaty cheek. Erik is so beautiful that it hurts to look at him, and he's so warm and alive and fits so perfectly into Marco's arms. Marco never wants to let go of him again, and his throat is tight and dry with desire and longing and all the things he cannot tell him because it would cross a line Marco still isn't ready to cross.

“Erik, Erik, Erriiiikkk,” he hears himself say instead of the words he chokes back with effort, and he can't stop repeating his name like a desperate mantra while he moves inside him, and he's wishing so badly that he could reach deeper and deeper into Erik until they were truly just one single being that it is a physical pain in his chest that threatens to tear him apart.

“Erik, Eriikk, oh, Eriikk, Eeerrriiikkk, Erik...”

Marco so wants to crawl inside him, he wants to crawl under Erik's skin until there is no barrier left between them so much, and he thrusts hard and fast into him to make the pain in his chest go away – the sharp ache that he can't just reach right into Erik's soul and stay there forever. Marco moves faster, his only goal to lose himself in their shared passion and pleasure and forget about the past months that he has spent with dreaming of being together with Erik like that again – only to wake up and find himself alone in his cold bed every single morning.

The traces of Erik's first orgasm glue their bodies together where Erik's hard cock is rubbing against his abdomen, and he snakes his hand between them to wrap it around Erik's hard length and stroke him to completion.

Marco remembers their first kisses and their furtive making out sessions and awkward hand jobs in the anonymity of a dark hotel room, and he still remembers so well how forbidden and excited touching another man's dick felt. He knew that they shouldn't do that, that it could end their careers if the others would ever find out what they were doing, and at first Marco told himself that he only did that because making out with a teammate who had to lose as much as he did was safer than doing it with anybody else.

It wasn't that he had never had sex with another man beforehand, but it felt so different with Erik, and Marco needed some time to realize that it was because he was feeling so differently for Erik than he'd felt for one of the few other men he'd shared some intimate moments with. He'd never dared to give the difference in his feelings a real name though, too afraid to go this final step because he sensed that they would never be able to undo it if he did, that they would never be able to go back to what they had once had before their lips had met almost by accident for the first time.

Even now that Erik is finally lying underneath him again and moaning into his mouth after what has been a couple of months only but feels like an entire lifetime, he still can't say the words that tickle on his tongue. He fears that Erik will perhaps let them slip if he lets the younger one talk to him, and so he keeps telling him not to speak and finds shelter in breathing Erik's name against his skin over and over again until he can hear the echo in the fragrant air of Erik's bedroom even when he stops saying it.

The fire of his unnamed feelings is raging in his body, and Marco pushes harder and flexes his fingers in Erik's ruffled hair, his right hand moving up and down on his rock-hard dick feverishly and determined to make Erik come again before he'll lose himself in their passion.

“Erik. Erik,” his voice is barely more than a whisper when the man he has missed so incredibly much goes still beneath him, before his entire body arches up from the mattress with a hoarse cry and he's coating Marco's fingers with the evidence of his satisfaction in hot and fast spurts.

Marco doesn't watch him this time but hides his face on his fragrant shoulder again, Erik's name coming out in a low moan when he follows him over the edge and fills the rubber with his painful release with one last deep thrust.

Erik's short nails press into his backside as he rides out their orgasms, moving his hips in tiny jerks against Marco's damp body until they both soften again. Marco's mind is pleasantly blank, and he isn't surprised when he realizes that he's still moving his lips with the two syllables that are Erik's name, his voice not audible now because he has no breath left, but he knows that Erik can feel the movements of his mouth pressed against his neck, recognizing his own name.

The feeling that they were doing something forbidden had never really left Marco, something so terribly wrong, and it had hung over his head every time they'd had sex, but Marco doesn't care about it in this moment because being without Erik's warmth, being without his smile and his touch feels so much wronger than anything else has ever felt to him.

“Marco, I, I...” Erik whispers in the aftermath, and Marco lifts his head from his shoulder to look down at him, and he's shaking his head gently, kissing him softly and tenderly to take the sharp edge out of his words when he says:

“Don't, Erik. Please don't speak.”


End file.
